


Such Sweet Sorrow...Sorry Once Again

by AutumnDreams



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnDreams/pseuds/AutumnDreams
Summary: Ruth-Centric story set in late series 3/early series 4; AU from canon. Editing has been fixed now





	

A weight sits upon her shoulders, biro scratching against paper, as she listens to Adam give the latest briefing on the low-level cases of late. It's early – or late – depending on your definition of time and the work day, and yet the impatience of most sitting around the table can be felt in the air, as everyone yearns for the dawdling of Monday to be over. Even she, normally so happy to be here, working all kinds of hours, finds herself in conflict.

But she knows that hers stems more from her personal conundrum than anything else.

Briefly, she lifts her eyes, her gaze settling on the man at the head of the table, his back to the screen on the wall. Where in the past she'd find his gaze on her, a small smile gracing his lips, a playfulness to his eyes as he covertly rolls them, there is nothing. His eyes roam the room, settling on Sam, on Danny, on Zoe and even Malcolm, but never her. As the hazel orbs move from one to another, they pass over her, barely casting her a glance.

His indifference hurts.

She's not known this kind of pain since her father's death; when he was ripped from her young life so unexpectedly and without any kind of goodbye. One moment there, loving and chatting with her, making her smile on an otherwise despondent day, and the next gone.

It's the same with Harry.

One evening they're laughing together, he making a bad joke at her attempt to venture into the realm of dating and community, and the next morning, with a few cold words, everything changed.

At first she thought it only temporary; they had argued before in the past, normally at some small misdeed of her own doing, and even more over the course of the previous few months; but unlike before, he completely pushed her from his realm. Things that he would pass off to her for completion stayed on his desk – or even worse, went to Sam. Their daily chatter in the small kitchenette or through internal messaging stopped completely. Her attempts at apologizing for whatever transgression she committed falling on deaf ears.

As hours turned into days, she had found herself getting even more desperate to make amends with him. With the person she had come to realize had become her best friend; that one person who understood both the light and the darkness within her, whom she could talk to about anything and everything without fear of judgment. She'd known that before; had even mentioned it to him a time or hundred before; but the exact depth in which she had come to care for him had surprised even her.

It wasn't the first time someone had gone from her life; it wasn't even the first time that someone she touted as a best friend had disappeared from her life; and yet, this time, there was something so profound and fervent about it that it overwhelmed her. Caused her to act in even more of a manner in which she was unaccustomed. Had her reaching out in all kinds of manners at all times of day and night. Phone calls, text messages, a box of his favorite biscuits, e-mails, letters – ways that she had never contemplated and would have been annoyed beyond belief had someone hounded her that way.

And yet, she was a woman possessed.

He'd broken the quiet only twice; both times expressing his annoyance with her – among other things; and yet, she couldn't accept it. Could not accept that something she had thought so deep could be over like that. She'd stopped trying to reach out, tried to accept that their something more than friendship was over, and yet she couldn't. It made her wonder then if they had ever truly been friends; had ever been as close as she had thought.

She'd begun to wonder if his unspoken words had been an act; a lie; and that she had meant nothing to him. That all this time, it had been a passing fancy of his, and that his expressions of her being one of the limited few he could trust had been untrue.

Only those thoughts had turned her back into the mad woman that she had been before, seeking some kind of contact with him. Missing him in her everyday life, hearing about the stress of the mundane, and the joys of a mission triumphant. Missing the random messages between them, or the gaze held too long.

The ache that had settled into her heart is still there, clenching it tightly at the knowledge that it is her inadequacy that caused this rift between them.

What makes it even more difficult to bear is that she knows he was right.

That her naivety of wanting everyone to like her cost her more than she had ever thought or planned. That trying to please everyone ruined something great.

That she betrayed his trust and faith in her.

Each morning she comes into work fully expecting to find transfer papers to another section on her desk. And each time she doesn't find them, she breathes a sigh of relief. Every time Adam or Malcolm crosses to her with a request, her gaze momentarily settles on his office, hoping that he'll be watching. And every time she sees him focused on something else, ignoring her, the prick of tears fills her eyes.

She's pathetic, she realizes that. Their relationship was never romantic; never more than friends. Yet she can also admit she's shared with him sides of herself she has shared with no one. And in the 43,960 minutes she's had to think, she realizes that perhaps one day; if both should be free; it could have been.

That in the deep recesses of her heart, she can admit that she loves him more than a friend probably ever should. That if they were both free, she would have no qualms with being his lover and partner. Of spending lazy Sunday mornings making love or frantically taking him when the urge overwhelmed, of cold evenings spent in a warm kitchen, preparing a meal together before finding a comfort in quiet evenings spent at home.

But they're not free.

He's married. Not in the literal sense, but to the job. To his honor. And his values.

And he has children.

These both figuratively in those who work under him, and literally in the two children he protects so dearly.

Even more boggling is that he's not her type – far from it. In all the years she's pursued her imperfect partner, they've been nothing like him.

And yet…

But it doesn't matter because she would never have the courage to take it there, to be the one to make the first move. Nor is she welcome in his life anymore.

It's this thought that has her pulling in a deep breath, of it catching in her throat. With an audible gasp, she fights back the overwhelming urge to cry, her fingers trembling as she swipes at her eyes. She knows everyone is starring, that they're all watching, and in the same sense, she can tell he's not. Hands lower, she clenches at the pen she dropped, gripping it tightly in her fingers as she blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Feels the tears retreat.

With her teeth gripping her lower lip, she lifts her eyes, meets the gaze of those around her. She forces a small smile onto her face, her knuckles turning white as she grips the pen tighter.

"Sorry," she manages to push out, her voice raspy with the emotion she's fighting to keep at bay, "I swallowed air."

And with that, they all seem to accept it, smile knowingly at her, and go back to the briefing. Leaving her alone with her thoughts yet again.

Thinking of each word spoken between them. Of the countless messages and stories they've shared. At the worry she's felt for him when he's been out of sorts, or out of contact. Of the small smiles that had gripped her lips as she'd thought of him randomly and of the eye rolls of those close in her life when she mentioned something he'd shared with her.

She worries now about what could be happening in his life, what he could need the support of a friend with, which she isn't there to offer. And though she's never been a religious woman, she prays for him nightly, that he is safe and happy, and that perhaps one day, he'll grant her the chance to make amends, to show that she truly is remorseful, and she truly has learned her lesson.

Around her, the meeting is breaking up, the others shuffling papers and gathering belongings. With a mental shake, she closes her pad, carefully capping her pen as she turns her attention once again to the conversation around her. Slowly she stands, her eyes resting on the man at the head of the table, jotting notes down in his diary, before pulling the papers from the table into her arms. Someone; perhaps it's Sam, maybe it's Zoe; asks her if she wants to head to the George with them for a quick evening meal. She offers a smile, one she hopes will convince them all is well, and mutters her no thanks, that she already has plans. They don't truly want her there; she knows that now, it's them just being polite. Each of them; aside from Malcolm and perhaps Danny; have ridiculed her behind her back, made comments of her naivety and difference, and yet, it's these that she seemingly chose over Harry.

Made him think that she was playing him to win the others.

It's their quick assent that makes her realize how right he was, and how stupid she has been. Quietly, she watches as they all leave the room, laughing and joking with one another, quickly forgetting about her. She picks up her pen, the cool plastic sliding between her fingers, regretting so much complaining to Harry about how much she wanted the others to like her, and yet at the same time, complained about all the things they did that annoyed her. All that time, he had to have thought that he was only second best, that he was a consolation prize until she got what it was she wanted. That she was just playing with his feelings and emotions so she didn't feel alone.

When it was him all along that she wanted.

When all she ever needed was him to speak to her, to show her some kind of attention, to feel as though she fit in, and that she mattered to the team.

That now; 34 days later; she still misses his friendship just as much, perhaps more, and that it's not going to change no matter how much time passes.

A chill goes through her and she wraps her arms around her middle. She's not sure how to express to him how much she misses him, how much their friendship means to her, and how much she honors and values him. She's not sure how to correct things between them – and she wants to very much. More than she's wanted anything before. Of all the friends she has had over the years, not one has affected her as much as he has; and no one ever will. He's the Nutella to her banana, the yin to her yang, and that's not going to change, no matter how hard he pushes her away.

Quietly, she looks at him, watches as he focuses intently on whatever it is that he is writing. Inside, she wishes that she could bridge this gap between them, but she doesn't know how; wishes that she had a time machine to go back in time and set things on a slightly different path, to slap herself and say 'pay attention to the one friend who does matter'.

"Harry," she says, her voice quivering with so much emotion. He pauses in his writing though his gaze does not waver, and her throat tightens. "Harry," she tries again, voice stronger, "I'm sorry. So very sorry."

She waits a moment, hoping that he'll accept her olive branch, that though there are still things they need to talk about, that he'll meet her half way and work through this. That the past two years have not been fake; haven't been for naught. He does not meet her eyes, does not lift his gaze from that paper, but his pen does not move.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am. I…" she stumbles for a moment, voice thick with feeling, "I regret every second that I made you think you were second best, that I was playing you to be part of the illustrious brotherhood. Harry, I wasn't." For a moment, she wants to cross to him, to wrap her arms around him and beg forgiveness, but they've never touched, never hugged. "You are and always will be the only person in that illustrious brotherhood that matters. I know you're honorable, that you're a proud man who marches to the beat of his own drum and others be damned, but please, give me a chance. I'm not as strong as you; my character has weakness to it, and at times, I stumble."

Ruth waits, her eyes on his head, silently begging him to look up, to see the emotion so readily open and free in her eyes. But he doesn't.

"Harry, I am begging you for forgiveness, to give me this last chance. I can see everything that you have said to me, everything that you have shown me, and I know that I was wrong. Talk with me, work with me, let me be there for you. I don't believe that you haven't grown to care about our friendship as much as I have, that you're indifferent. So please, _please_ , accept my many apologies."

She waits a moment, and when he doesn't look up, she sighs.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles.


End file.
